Clandestine
by LostLittleGirl90
Summary: What Katie Harold first believed was a thought-to-be dead MI6 agent accessing restricted CIA files soon unfolds into a plot to take over Russia...Takes place 2 years after SCORPIA and doesn't follow book 6...
1. 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider, but I do own Katie Harold and any other CIA worker you don't recognise (i.e. Troy and Turner.)

* * *

Los Angeles,

California,

United States of America

Somewhere on the lower levels of the CIA Headquarters in LA, a computer was on. It was the only source of light in the small room, lighting up the three walls in front of it. At the bottom of the screen it showed that it was past three A.M. A young girl, hardly any older than sixteen lay sleeping on the desk, right in between the keyboard, a cup of Coke, seeing as she despised coffee, and a million different sheets of paper, all of them with a Government stamp.

She was a computer programmer and 'hacker' for the CIA, and she was quite content with her job, even though she wasn't always treated with the same credibility as older agents. Two years ago, when the CIA and FBI wanted young teens to work as agents, she had been one of the first they asked, but turned them down. Field work wasn't her thing. She couldn't lie to save her own life.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The girl stirred, the alarm from the computer waking her from her sleep. She squeezed her green blue eyes shut then opened them slightly, trying to adjust to the light in front of her. Her deep brown hair hanging loosely in front of her face she pushed away behind her ears. She reached over the desk and pressed the on button of a small table lamp. "Jesus fuck…" She muttered, noticing the fact that it was 3.15 in the morning. She kept blinking her eyes, trying to wake up to full consciousness, but was finding it harder than imagined.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She stared at the screen. Numbers, letter and odd signs put together in a way not usually used in sentences were flying down the screen. "What the..?" She pushed her glasses up from their position almost falling of her nose and scrolled down the screen. The strange sentences that would make no sense to most people confused her at the moment. Desperate to find a mistake, she looked over the pages again, but there was no one to find. She shook her head, and went over it again. And again, and again. There was no mistake to be found, but to her, that just couldn't be right…

'--

"Boss!" The girl pushed her way through a crowd of older agents, trying to get the attention of the chief of the division, Eric Avers. It was now 8.30 in the morning and she had spent a vast majority of the past hours trying to find something to prove the computer wrong or to see if there was some kind of flaw in her system. She had come to the conclusion though, that there wasn't anything wrong with the computer, nor had she found anything to prove the information she had received wrong either.  
The elder man stopped in front of the coffee machine, grabbing himself a white mug with the writing 'I –heart- LA'. The girl grimaced as the loud noise of the coffeemaker reached her ears, she didn't see how people could drink that stuff, it tasted awful. If they needed caffeine, why not drink Coke or some other soda, hell, tea even, but coffee, that was just disgusting.

"What do you want kid?" he asked, bringing the coffee cup to his lips while looking up from the file he had just been handed by a senior agent. "Come on, walk with me, I haven't got all day." She followed him, almost jogging to keep up with him as he headed for his office.

"Well, sir, I need to" She paused, making her way through another group of people. "I need to talk to you about those files"

"Kid, we have a million files here, be more specific." She followed him into his office, and stood in the middle of the large room as he sat down behind his oak desk. "Well?" she frowned at the fact that he was still reading the other file while talking to her.

"The files, the ones we gave to MI6 on the mission Troy and Turner went on two years ago."

He hesitated a bit, obviously trying to remember what mission she was talking about. "Oh, yes, what about them?" He asked, looking back at the file in his hand.

"Well, someone's accessed them, that's what." The old man looked up from his file, an annoyed look on his slightly wrinkled face.

"People access those file's all the time." He said. "Was there a point to this?"

"Not these files sir." She protested. "These were the ones we made especially for the MI6, the ones that didn't contain more info than we were willing to give out."

"So, what's the problem then?"

"Well, sir, only four people had access to those files sir, me, Troy, Turner and Alex Rider." She pushed her glasses up again and continued. "Troy and Turner are dead, and I certainly didn't access them."

"What are you saying, kid?"

"Well, sir, I think Alex Rider may still be alive, and, well, accessing our files."

He sighed. The girl had quite an imagination, he realised. Dead agents accessing files, what would be next, Presidents cheating in elections? "Look, Katie," He stopped as the phone rang. "We'll talk about this later. Go see Wright in Counter-Terrorism, they need your help on something."

"But, sir"

"We will discuss this later, now go."

The girl sighed, pushing loose strands of hair behind her ear. "Yes sir." She muttered, realising defeat.

'—

The Counter-Terrorism offices where on the second from-the-top floor in the ten storey building, only eight of which were visible above ground level, in the outskirts of El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula, or as most people knew it, Los Angeles. The office was to the outside world just another boring grey building that no one paid any particular amount of interest to. The CIA had another, smaller, office in the city, one that people not hired by the Central Intelligence Agency or the Government could come to if they had information, or if they needed protection.

Katharine 'Katie' Harold was currently walking the many flights of stairs it took to get from the second floor to the seventh, seeing as the elevator didn't seem to be on her side this morning. She frowned as she reached the last few steps. At the moment she really couldn't care less about what Counter-Terrorism needed help with, what she wanted to know was how the late MI6 agent Alex Rider could have accessed _her_ files, especially since said agent had, supposedly, been dead for the past two years.

She pushed open the heavy, bullet-proof metal door entering into the CT offices, immediately being met by the loud chatter, phones ringing of the hooks and the computer beeping that was normal in the offices, had it not been like this, she would have easily thought something was very, very wrong. Half way inside the offices she was met by John Wright, who was basiclly the one responsible for the upkeep of the Counter-Terrorism computers.

"Please explain to me why _I _am helping _you_ with the computers that are _your _responsibilities? I have things to do you know." She asked him as she followed him through the room.

John, a young man in his early twenties, with short brown-red hair that just covered the tip of his ears and grey-green eyes, laughed at her comment. He stood a good 190 centimetres above the ground, which meant that when ever he was to talk directly to her, he was looking down at her. "_You _are helping _me_, because your boss told you too." He paused. "Plus, you don't have anything better to do, and you know it Harold."

"Don't call me that! Call me Katie, hell, you can even call me Katharine, just not Harold!" She glared at him. She hated when people called her Harold, it made her sound like a guy. "And I so have better things to do. I'm on to something John, and it's something big, I just know it."

"Oh? You found the cave Bin Laden's hiding in?" He asked sarcastically, as he sat down at his desk, with Katie standing behind him.

"No…" She answered uncertainly, not really sure what he meant by that question.

"Then you're not on to something big."

"Screw you." She muttered, turning her attention to the computer screen. "So, what's the problem here?" Looking at the screen she couldn't find anything that stood out as wrong. John dragged the mouse to the upper left corner, clicking and closing the current window, revealing a black and red world map, which was also featured on the big screen on the wall, which had obvious flaws. She looked over the picture, mentally analyzing the situation. Coming to a solution she hit the Escape button, F6, F11 and then the Delete button. A small window opened on the middle of the screen and she typed in a username and password before hitting Enter. The window closed and the map went back to its usual green and blue colours.

"You couldn't fix that by yourself?" She asked angrily, mad that they would bother her with something so simple.  
"I live to annoy you Harold." He shouted after her as she stomped away towards the stairs. She hurried down, muttering various curses to herself. People had no respect for her around here, hell, they had no respect for any of the junior members, not even the agents. She was starting to understand how Alex Rider must have felt while working for the MI6. But she was going to gain respect, she didn't know just how, but she had a pretty good feeling that if she was right about those files, she might just be able to get it.  
--'---  
The California sun shone brightly that afternoon. Every citizen of L.A. was used to the incredible heat that was basiclly a trademark for their region, most people walking around with water bottles in their hands, others using newspapers and magazines as fans. The Hollywood sign was clearly visible, the white contrasting against the amazing blueness of the sky. The sidewalks were filled with tourists and shoppers, the streets with endless lines of cars honking at each other for being too slow, or just because the drivers needed a way to release their pent up anger.  
To Katie Harold, who spent most of her time in her small office in the CIA headquarters, walking down Melrose alone in the scorching temperature was quite foreign. Sure, she had done it before, but over the past years she had been working for the CIA, her social life had been, well, non-existing. Her family life, even more non-existing.  
Her mother left her when she was still an infant and she had been raised alone by her father, a simple man who had his own business, where he helped people who needed it. It was quite interesting how she got her job. As a thirteen year old she spent most of her spare time helping her dad in his store or being on the computer 'doing her homework'. One day she had come over classified information the Government certainly wouldn't want out, and used that to get a job in the CIA when at fourteen the Government had her father's business was closed. She had walked straight into the smaller CIA office and told them it to them like it was and exactly what she planned on doing if they didn't give her a job that paid as much as her father used to earn.  
She had been very surprised when they told her yes. She had been certain that they would just laugh at her at first, and then later try to arrest her or sue her for trying to black mail them. But then again, she had always been told by her teachers that she could be extremely convincing if she wanted something.

Katie turned away from the window of the fourth floor kitchen, the largest one and the one with the best view of the city she so rarely got to see up close. She took another sip of her Coke and a bite from her doughnut. Yes, she ate doughnuts. Screw the fact that they were cliché, she liked them, and obviously the fourth floor team did as well. She looked at the wall clock hanging on the wall in front of her. It was now 4.30 P.M. and she knew Eric Avers would be having a break around now. As she stood there, leaning against the windowsill, she couldn't help but wonder what she would be doing if she hadn't had this job. She would have been in school, no doubt, like every other normal sixteen year old, worried about looks, and clothes and boys instead of national security. But then again, she really wouldn't want it any other way.

'--  
With new found courage and determination, Katie Harold walked, shoulders straight, head held up high into the second floor offices to speak to Eric Avers, her boss.

"Sir, we still haven't properly discussed the Alex Rider situation." She said quickly, cutting into the conversation he was currently having with one of the leading field-ops agents, Amir Araz. Eric Avers turned and looked sternly at her, his jaw clenched.  
"What's she talking about?" The other agent asked. Avers features softened as he turned back to the dark skinned, dark haired agent in his late thirties. Amir Araz had been working for the CIA for ten years now, and before that he had been working for the army and the police. In all his years working for the Government, all his years anywhere even, he had never met anyone quite like Katharine Harold, an incredibly bright girl, especially for her age.  
"Katie here is convinced the Alex Rider, a dead MI6 agents, who's been dead for _two_ years" He emphasized the word 'two' heavily. "Is still alive, and has been hacking into our files."  
The other agent looked from Eric to Katie and back again, looking for any kind of sign that this was some kind of strange inside joke between the two, or any kind of joke for that matter. The dead don't walk, they say, and they _certainly _don'thack into restricted CIA files. "Are you serious?" He finally asked the girl.  
"A hundred and ten percent serious. It's the only explanation to how they were accessed. Alex Rider was the only person other than Troy, Turner and me who had the passwords to those files." She stated matter-of-factly.  
"Well, when you put it like that…" He trailed off, studying the seriousness in the girl's eyes. She did make a very good point. No one knew much about Alex Rider's death, not even Alan Blunt, head of MI6 knew the specifics. And Alex Rider never did like being an agent, faking his death would have been an easy way for the teen to get out of it.  
"You don't actually believe this Amir?" Eric questioned incredulously.  
"She does make an interesting point, Eric. And even if it wasn't Alex Rider, someone did access those files, _illegally. _We should not choose to take this lightly, it could turn out to be a fatal mistake."  
Eric Avers did not look pleased. Agent Araz was right, it could be serious, and he had treated it like nothing, and if it turned out to be critical, it would not look too good with his superiors. He sighed, a sign of his defeat. "Fine. Katie, I want you to look properly into this. But if I hear the name Alex Rider again, without it being relevant…" he finished there, not really knowing what exactly he could threaten the sixteen year old girl with.  
"Yes sir!" She said, eyes showing clear signs of joy. "I promise I'll get to the bottom of this." She started walking and then stopped, looking over her shoulder. "Oh, and sir,…Alex Rider." She grinned and took off running down the hall towards the stairs, but could still hear her boss half yell a series of curses directed at her.

'—

Katie Harold spent the next week helping different units with small computer problems and the likes, and devoted the rest of her time to find out who had accessed file SKLTNKY2. And she had 'accidentally' come over the fact, that with the 8 or so hour time difference between L.A. and London, the files would have been accessed around 5 P.M. She had for the past seven days been trying to pick up were the hackers signal had been coming from, but because it had been amaturely scrambled and combining that with the fact that the CIA computers were loaded with more in progress computer work than usual, the trace was taking an agonizingly long time to lock onto the hackers position.

"Hey there Harold." She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She turned her neck around, looking into familiar eyes.

"What do you want, _Wright_?" She asked exasperated. She didn't need to be bothered right now. The computers working slow plus the fact that she really wanted the answers to her question already made her want to scream, she didn't need him to bother her.

"Can't a guy check up his friend? See how she's doing?" He glanced over her shoulder, trying to look at what she was doing. She quickly noticed and put down that window. "Aww, come on! I just wanna see what this 'big thing' your working on is. You've had your nose buried in it for a week!"

"You didn't believe me when I first told you about it. I'm not telling you now." She knew she was being childish, but at the moment didn't really care. She sat there for a moment, starring at the blank screen. "Could you leave now? I have work to do."

"Okay Harold, but I'm gonna figure it out sooner or later." He said, more like a promise than a threat as he walked out the door. She sighed. It seemed elevators weren't the only things working against her today.

* * *

So, what do ya think? Please review!


	2. 2

AN: I just started reading "Ark Angel" the sixth book in the series, and it better be DAMN GOOD. Seriously, I liked how Horowitz killed off Alex 'cos it was so unexpected and kind of original in a children's series. –hmph-

Reviews:

SpeedyGonzales1: Thanks, that's nice to hear.

MzHissyFits: Eeek! Don't sue me! LoL, sorry. I actually have no idea what LA looks like myself, I've never been there, only seen it on TV and the likes.

Hm, you're probably right about the Katie thing, I never thought about how confusing it might be for others, seeing as I'm the one writing it and already know that, but yeah, you're probably right.

Did he? Or didn't he? _I'll never te-ell…_ LoL, sorry, damn, now I've forgotten what movie that's from…

Honey Nut Loop: Thanks. Really, you think so? I never thought about the fact that it might be similar to how he writes…you might have a point though.

Note: There is a lot of jumping between countries and locations, so know that the time difference between London, England and Los Angeles, USA is EIGHT hours, just so you won't get too confused.

* * *

Chelsea, 

London,

United Kingdom of Great Britain

Jack Starbright, her tousled red hair blowing in the chilling morning breeze, headed back towards the front door of her home with bills and letters in hand. Her home, once owned by the deceased MI6 agent Ian Rider, was know hers as it was to be left in her care should anything ever happen to him. Once inside, she stopped in the entrance hall, going through each letter carefully not to miss anything important. In the stack was the usual; Water bills, electricity bills, a letter or two, mostly from her family, and the newspaper.

The cheerful American grabbed a letter-opener, ripping an envelope addressed to her, in her mothers writing, open with little care. She took the thin paper in her hands, reading it silently.

_Dear Jackie!_

_How is everything in England? Status in the Motherland is A-okay!_

Jack chuckled softly. Her mother was a funny person, always happy and smiling. She and her mother shared a lot of similarities, most notably their shade of hair. When Jack had first come to Law school in England she had been told that colour hair was called ginger…And she has immediately thought about a friend back home and felt home sick. Law school never really did work out for her.

_Hunny, when are you going to come visit us? Or call? Or even write?_

_The past two years you've been so distant._

Jack stopped there. The past two years had not exactly been the best of her life. The tragic death of one of the best friends she had ever had, even if he was just fourteen, had made her close herself off from most of the outside world. Walking into the kitchen she sighed softly. She remembered cooking for him, even if cooking to her meant simple recepies that hardly took anymore than ten minutes.

She grabbed a juice carton from the rather empty fridge and poured herself a glass. This house just wasn't the same without him here. She sipped the orange juice, not fully indulging herself in the day's news headlines. Apparently, another football star had cheated on his already famous wife with some singer-slash-actress-slash-designer. Not exactly breaking news compared to the news ten days ago.  
A bomb had gone of in the Russian city St.Petersburg, which was formerly named Leningrad during the USSR (1) era, killing over 20 civilians and some members of the democratic Government during a meeting. They still hadn't found out who was responsible.

The phone rang. This came as a surprise to the twenty-something year old, causing her to almost choke on her drink. No one usually called at eight thirty in the morning. Then a thought struck her. Hesitantly she reached for the phone, she had a pretty good idea of who it was already…

/Meanwhile/

Los Angeles,

California,

United States of America.

You know, most normal people are already asleep on weekdays when it's past 12.30 P.M., even in Los Angeles, but at 12.37 P.M. CIA employee Katie Harold was being driven home. Then again, there wasn't a lot of things about Katie Harold which were normal, apart from her average appearance.

She walked up the dimly lit front steps of the porch, feeling as awake as she usually was. She was used to coming home this late, hell, she even ended up sleeping in her office sometimes. She pulled out the keys from her bag, not wanting to wake her dad, who was presumably already asleep, by ringing the doorbell.

She turned the keys, and grasped the cold steel handle of the door, opening it slowly. It creaked as she did this, and she made a mental note of oiling it on her next day off. She entered, quickly taking off her shoes and jacket, and placing her keys on a small table.

"Katie, is that you!" A voice called. She flinched, startled by the voice calling out to her. She hit the lights on, walking cautiously through the hall.

"Dad, are you up?" She asked. Even though she already knew the answer, she was quite surprised that he was still up, and -she caught the smell of food- was he cooking? She walked into the kitchen, to find her father taking a pizza out of the microwave.

He smiled as he noticed that she had entered the room. "Hey kiddo!" He greeted. "You're just in time for" He trailed off, looking down at the pizza he was holding on a large plate. "Well, it's dinner time somewhere." He said cheerfully, though she easily noticed he wasn't as happy as he was pretending to be. Katie knew her dad didn't like her working the hours she did, even less did he like the fact that she, a sixteen year old who should still be in High School, was working for the Central Intelligence Agency.

"You shouldn't have waited up for me, you know." She said quietly as she sat down opposite to him at the small kitchen table.

"Don't worry about me, kiddo. I just want to spend as much time as possible with you. You're growing up you know. In a couple of years, you're not going to be living here even."

She snorted. "Oh? Dad, I'm not going to move from L.A. anytime soon, my job is here, remember?"

A distressed look crossed his face as she said this. He quickly covered it and began talking again. "Oh, that reminds me, Eve called today."

"Eve?" She looked quizzically at him, while raking her memory to see if she could remember who this 'Eve' was.

"_Eve_." He said, as if the answer was obvious.

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell." She replied, taking a large bite of her pizza slice.

"She was one of your closest friends when you were in school." He said, sounding sad almost. Peter Harold didn't like the fact that his daughter's job deprived her of a normal life. He had a job now, Katie didn't need to work for the CIA anymore. Unfortunately for Mr.Harold, quitting a job in the CIA isn't very easy, no matter what age. You've had access to classified information, they can't just let you back on the street.

Katie Harold remembered now who he was talking about, and her father wasn't the only one who felt sad at that moment. "Oh…Eve." Came her quiet reply.

Chelsea,

London,

United Kingdom of Great Britain

Jack Starbright pressed the phone against the ear, hoping the caller was someone other than who she expected it to be.

"Hello?" She said quietly, waiting for a response.

"**Hello, this is the Royal and General bank calling." **The voice was that of a woman, perky and slightly high pitched. Jack assumed she must have been quite young. She knew that this was in fact not the Royal & General Bank calling, she knew all about how it was just a cover up by the MI6.

"**We were wondering if you were interested"**

"I'm not." Jack interrupted the woman. Ever since the death of Alex Rider two years ago, the MI6 had not once been in contact with Jack Starbright. She didn't know if it was because they knew she blamed them for Alex's death, or if it was because she simply meant nothing to them.

Strangely though, over the past few days, they had called the house more often than she could ever remember. She didn't know what they wanted from her, but whatever it was, she still wanted nothing to do with the bastards. "Goodbye." She said firmly, basically slamming the phone down again.

She couldn't stand those people, Mrs.Jones, Alan Blunt, who ever they were, she wanted them to stay as far away as possible. SCORPIA, sabotage, corruption, intelligence and assassination, she knew they were the one's who hired the assassin that shot Alex, but it was still in her mind, the MI6's fault. Alex Rider never wanted to be a spy. God knows how many times he nearly escaped death while working for them. God knows how many times he tried to get out of working for them, but still, they never back down. Maybe, on some level, Alex was better off dead. Jack ran a hand through her tangled hair, trying to keep her cool, though she was tempted to a) call up the MI6 and yell at them for bothering her or b) simply plug out the phone. Though if she did the later, she might miss an important call.

She sighed. Somehow, having lived with _two _MI6 agents, meant that she was to be hassled by their former employees. Jack turned and looked out the window. She could barely make out were the Thames was, but could see people were already busy opening their shops on King's Road. Maybe she'd go out shopping today. The fridge certainly needed some filling up, and she wanted to check out if they had anything new at some of the clothe stores.

She walked back into the entrance hall, grabbed her coat and purse and was out the door in a matter of moments.

Los Angeles,

California,

United States of America

Katharine Harold walked up the stairs to her room. Eating four slices of pizza seemed to have the same effect on her milk had on some people; she suddenly felt very, _very _sleepy. She dragged herself towards her room, her bag feeling a lot heavier than it actually was, seeing as it only contained a book and a computer disk.

He room was one of the three rooms on the second floor, along with her fathers and a bathroom. Her house wasn't big, but just the size for the two people who lived their. Her room, which she hardly spent anytime in, was painted white with nothing on the walls except a few photos. Other than that there was a dresser, a desk, a bookshelf and her bed. Nothing more, nothing less. She liked it simple.

She placed the contence of her bag on her desk, putting the book back in its shelf, and grabbing the disk before crouching down on the floor. She pulled away the carpet and, with some difficulty, loosened one of the floor boards, under which she hid the disk.

This may sound weird. In fact, it is kind of weird. How ever, Katie Harold liked knowing where she kept her things, and even more, she liked no one else knowing where she kept her things.

She stood up again, straightening out her shirt and dusting off her pants. Her eyes began to feel very heavy, and she let out a loud yawn…

/(Next Day)/

As Katie Harold once again sat at her desk in the CIA building, waiting for the results of her week long search for the 'mysterious' hacker, she had managed to get a hold of Alex Rider's file. She had found information on his legal guardian, one Jack Starbright, an American, which could prove to be useful information in the future.

She cracked her fingers, waiting and waiting. She was certain the results would come today, they just had to. She scrolled through the rest of Rider's file. He had quite a resumee for only having worked for the MI6 for less than a year, having saved the world on more occasions than one. She couldn't help wonder what would happen to him if they, or more like she, proved that he was the one hacking into the CIA files. Even if he had the password, he wasn't working for the MI6 any more, which made accessing them illegal for him as well.

"Katie!" A voice called her from the door way. She turned her chair around, pushing up her glasses in the process. In the doorway stood one of her co-workers, a middle-aged woman with grey-brown hair and deep green eyes.

"Can I help you Ann?" She asked.

"Meeting on the second floor. Avers wants you there, too." She said, her tone sympathetic.

Katie groaned, getting a laugh from the woman in response. "Can't it wait? I'm kinda busy right now."

"He says you have to be there, _now." _Ann sighed. "Look, I can cover for you for a couple of minutes but that's it."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The familiar sound of the strange alarm on Katie's computer went off. "Look's like I might not have to." Ann said, looking over her young co-workers shoulder. "What is that you've been working on?"

"Someone hacked into a couple of files." Katie replied absentmindedly, while going over her results. "Someone who might or might not be dead."

"Dead?" Ann asked, sounding almost worried. Katie dismissed her tone of voice, going over different papers she had printed out, comparing them to each other. "You found something?"

"Come look at this, Ann." She showed her the different papers. Ann's eyebrows narrowed as she went over the different sheets with extreme presicioin, not wanting to miss anything. There were addresses, names, codes, numbers, the likes, but even though it could be confusing, Ann Cofler was sure about one thing:

"That's definently the same."

Royal & General Bank/MI6 Offices,

London,

United Kingdom of Great Britain

The afternoon sun was setting over London, the cloud clad skies looking red-ish. A man in his late twenties bleached blond hair sat in front of a computer in the back of the front counter in the Royal & General Bank. At least, that's what it was to the outside world. Anyone who was employed there, or anyone in the Government for that matter, knew that this was the MI6 offices.

The man, whose name was Ralph Mayer, a slightly chubby man with dark eyes, was staring incredulously at the screen in front of him. This needed to be reported to Mrs.Jones and Mr.Blunt immediately. He pressed the print button, making himself a copy of the information on the screen. Grabbing the A4 sheet of recycled paper he hurried towards the elevator, important or not, he was not running up the stairs to Mr.Blunt's office on the sixteenth floor.

The elevator was taking it fair share of time, dragging it out agonizingly long. Ralph tapped his foot impatiently, others waiting for the elevator glancing oddly at him. The arrival of the elevator was signalled by a 'ding' and he pushed his way past all the others waiting.

He pressed his finger against the round button reading '16' and then pressed the button with the sign for closing the doors. He could hear the cursing of people who didn't manage to get inn in time, though their voices were muffled by the thick metal doors.

The other people in the elevator, though this went by unnoticed by Ralph Mayer, were looking oddly at him, then at each other, their eyes asking what on earth could be so important and why he was in such a rush.

Once the elevator stopped on his floor, he practically ran towards office 1605, pushing open the door even though Alan Blunts secretary made it clear that he was not to be interrupted at the moment.

The thick, glazed glass door was flung open, and had you been there you probably would be surprised that it didn't break as it made impact with the wall. Ralph Mayer stood in the doorway, panting as he tried to re-catch his breath, Alan Blunt looking at him from behind his desk, an annoyed look on his face.

"Sir," came Ralph's voice. "You should see this…"

* * *

AN: Okay, there you have it. Second chappie, hope you like. 

(1) USSR stands for "Union of Soviet Socialist Republics" and is another name used for the old Soviet Union.


	3. 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from the Alex Rider series, Anthony Horowitz does. I do own all OC characters and plot.

Reviews:

Black Aliss: Thanks.

Honey Nut Loop: No, we wouldn't want that, but I take that as a compliment anyways.

* * *

Los Angeles, 

California,

United States of America

It seemed every worker on the second floor and others were all there for the meeting Eric Avers was holding. Katie Harold was just one of them, but surely the most impatient one. She sat in one of the many chair lining the conference table, tapping her foot against the floor as she waited for the meeting to begin. In her lap she had the papers she and Ann Cofler had gone over just minutes before, and she was extremely eager to show them to Avers.

On the screen hanging on the wall at the end of the room, the letters NCSR were glowing black-on-white and under them in smaller writing 'Новая Коммунистическая Советская Революция' (1). She wasn't quite sure what it meant, but she assumed it was in Russian or something similar to the language.

The loud chattering in the meeting room faded as Eric Avers entered, a hard, emotionless look on his face. Katie wasn't used to seeing him like this, but the others seemed to be and all seemed to understand that the information he was about to give out was important and grave.

"This," He said, pointing at the screen to his side. "is the NCSR, a name you will be hearing a lot in the following weeks. NCSR stands for the New Communist Soviet Revolution, the words you see here," he pointed below the initials, "is their name in their native Russian. This group or a branch of theirs at least, has come out with the information that the bomb that went off in St.Petersburg is American." Whispers spread through out the room. This _was_ serious. The relationship between America and Russia was important, if the Russians believed Americans were behind the bombing, there could be future attacks against America, or even a war.

"American, sir?" Someone asked. "How is that possible?"

"That's what we don't know, and what we need to find out. Four high ranking Russian politicians, all members of the Government, were killed in that explosion. If it turns out that this bomb was American, or Americans were behind it, all hell will break loose. American and Russia are two of the most powerful countries in the world. We are going to prevent a war between the two of us, at any means necessary." He paused, pressing a button on a remote of sorts. A picture appeared on the screen. "This," He said, pointing at a picture of a building with a flag on it. "Is a picture of the building facing the scene. This flag, the old Soviet Union flag, was raised only hours after the bombing."

"So, in other words, you think the NCSR is behind the bombing?"

"So far, this is our only hunch that they could be, and I need everyone to work on proving it right. This is first priority, understand? Every thing else come second. Go."

Katie pushed her hair behind her ear, nervousness swelling up inside her, rising up from the pit of her stomach and filling every inch of her body. She had never been part of anything this serious, and it was not only that which made her nervous. The thought of a war scared her, she was after all just a kid.

She adjusted her glasses and took a deep breath. If she was to work on this new case for God knows how long, she wanted to alert her boss of her new discovery now.

"Umm, boss?" She asked carefully. Her voice came out more quiet and unsure than she had aimed for, and it sounded almost as if she was talking more to the floor than to him.

The man sighed, and ran a hand through his thin hair. "Yes Katie?" He asked his voice airy and his mind probably on something far more important.

"Well, see, I got the results back from the, the search, and"

"Katie, as much as I know that someone hacking into our database is important to take action on, we don't have time for this now."

"But, sir, see the signal came from an internet café in Hertford, Jack Starbright, Alex Rider's legal guardian owns an apartment only a few block away." She said, trying to prove her point.

"Merely a coincidence." Eric stated, heading out of the meeting room, Katie Harold on his heels.

"But Jack Starbright doesn't even live there. She lives in Ian Rider's home in London, and has lived there for the past two years, the same amount of time that she's been renting that apartment." She insisted, having not taken a hint as the old man's pace had quickened. Now he stopped, and turned on his heel to look her in the eyes.

"Look, we have a crisis on our hands here, Katie. I couldn't care less about some might-be-dead MI6 agent. What I do care about is how a registered American Army bomb went of during a meeting in St.Petersburg, killing 24 people. What I care about is finding the person responsible before it's too late. When we've done that, then we can talk about Alex Rider."

777

Royal & General Bank/MI6 Offices,

London,

United Kingdom of Great Britain

"Sir, he just ran in, I couldn't stop him." Mr.Blunt's secretary's weak voice piped from behind the still panting form of Ralph Mayer. Alan Blunt stood up and walked up to the younger man.

"That's quite alright Elvira." He said emotionlessly, looking over Ralph's shoulder. He turned his eyes towards the blond, looking him straight in the eye. "What is it?" He asked as soon as his secretary went back to her desk, a stern look on his face.

"The American's, they've been blamed for the bombing in Russia." Ralph informed him. Blunts features were suddenly lined with uncharacteristic shock. He quickly regained himself and grabbed the phone on his desk, pressing the '1' button, which was speed dial for Mrs.Jones. He talked to on the phone, his voice so low that Ralph couldn't make out what he was saying to her. Few moments later, Mrs.Jones entered the office.

"What's this information you've received, Mr.Mayer?" She asked, her dark eyes looking over the man whose cheeks were still slightly flushed. Obviously, he did not have the best fitness.

"The American's have been blamed for the explosion in St.Petersburg." Blunt told her. "Mr.Mayer, you can leave." Mrs.Jones eyes were filled with confusion and disbelief. The Americans? They would never do anything as stupid as this.

"You realise, if this is true, it puts Britain in a very complicated situation?" Alan Blunt was right. The British had for along time had ties with the Americans, if they chose to take their side they would immediately become enemies of the Russians, and vice versa.

"We should get in touch with the CIA. I'll put someone on it right now."

"I'll do it my self." He told her. She nodded, absentmindedly looking out the window. "Was there anything you wanted to say Mrs Jones?" He asked, wondering why she was lingering in his office.

"…" She was about to say something but thought twice about it. "No, I don't believe I do." She replied, and with that she left the office of the so called chairman of Royal & General.

777

UndergroundLocation,

Petrozavodsk,

Russian Federation

An underground conference room, consisting solely of a long hallway ending in a large, square windowless room painted in a dull shade of beige. The entrance door are large, simple, double doors in with large metal door handles. At the other end of the hallway is a simple, 6 person elevator, the only way back above the ground.

A woman in her late thirties is walking down this very hall. She walking straight, head held up high. Her face was sharply featured with high cheekbones and pointy nose, her flawed skin was make-up less. Her hair was tied in a tight bun and she was dressed in a skirt which ended right below the knee and a green military jacket, decorated with different medals and pins. Under her arm she held a thin paper file and a small ID card.

Marija Kurkova flashed her identity card to the two guards standing in front of the doors. The men studied the card, lowering the AK-47's they were carrying.

"Прозрачный." (2) one of the guards grunted. She nodded in reply and walked straight through the doors.

The conference room was already filled with people, most of them old men, at least in their sixties. Marija took her seat on the left side of the third row, a hard, emotionless look on her face that could have rivalled Alan Blunts. Her presence was recognised with several nods from he men in the room, and one of them sitting in the front row rose from his seat. He waked onto the podium in the front of the room.

"Brothers, sisters, my equals." He greeted them in a heavy Russian accent. He had a grey moustache and combed back greying brown hair. This man, standing almost 6 feet tall in his dark green uniform decorated with more medals than any other person in the room, was Nicholai Bogodhan leader of the NCSR.

"It is with great pleasure that I tell you that the first stages of operation PHOENIX have been a success. At this very moment the American pigs are shaking with fear of what to come, with our impotent Government doing the same." His voice was lined with confidence, speaking the words loudly. "And as much as our victory should be celebrated immediately, I believe one of our sisters has something to say. Ms Kurkova?" He gestured to the woman on the third row. She nodded and stood up.

"Thank you, Mr Bogodhan." She said stepping onto the podium, as the man once again took his seat on the front row. Still in her hand Marija opened the paper file. "It has come to my division's attention, that a heinous crime has been committed towards one of Old Russia's many great heroes," She held up a picture from her file "General Alexei Sarov." Hushed whispers erupted through out the room. She put the picture back into the file. "After the death of his son Vladimir in Afghanistan, Mr Sarov drew back to the little island 'Cayo Esqueleto' near Cuba. It has come to the attention of my devisoin that Alexei Sarov has been murdered. This happened two years ago."

"What!" one of the men demanded, a furious look on his face. "How could we not have known till now!"

"Because the Americans, and the MI6 kept it secret, in order to protect them selves."

"Protect them selves?" Another asked. "Why?"

"Because General Sarov's murderer was an MI6 agent, sent to Cayo Esqueleto on a mission from the CIA. In doing this, they were both involved in his murder."

"And who exactly is this MI6 agent Ms Kurkova?" Nicholai asked her. "For I assumed that you're division knows, othervise you wouldn't be sharing this information just yet."

Marija nodded. She took out another picture from her file, and held it up for them all to see. "This," She said "is the MI6 agent who murdered Alexei Sarov." All the NCRS members leaned forward in their seats, re-adjusting their glasses if they had, other's squinting their eyes to make out who was on the A4 portrait photograhp.

Nicholai Bogodhan stood up, anger in his eyes. "Is this some kind of joke, Ms Kurkova?"

777

Los Angeles,

California,

United States of America

"All right, I want everyone working on _this _floor!" Field Operation agent Amir Araz shouted over the group of people who were currently pushing eachother around trying to get to their usual work place. Everyone slowly stopped pushing and turned around to look at the man. "We all need to co operate, get it?"

As if they were little children and had just been given a talking to by their mother all the CIA employees that had been part of the meeting peacefully found a computer to work at. Katie Harold had been trying to sneak down the stairs through all the comotion but seeing as the crowd had suddenly diminished the 16 year old had now been spotted trying to open the door to the stairs.

"I said everyone on this floor Katie," Agent Araz told her. "That means you too." He called after her. She sighed and turned around. When she did she caught a glimps of Eric Aver talking to someone she had not seen before. She assumed he was a high ranking official judging by how the brown haired man dressed. Next thing she knew him and Avers entered the nearby elevator. Typical that elevators only didn't work when she was around. But now her curiousity sparked, where were they going?

She walked over to Agent Araz, who was currently arguing with Ann Cofler about something, in hope of getting some kind of information.

"But you're Field-Op's!" She heard Ann half shout. "Field-Op's has nothing to do with this, if you were Counter-Terrorism then maybe, just _maybe _I'd understand what you were doing here, but you're not! You have no experience when it come to this."

"Ann, I am perfectly capable of using a computer." Amir retorted. "Either way, Eric asked me to handel this while he was gone."

"Where exactly is Avers going?" Katie interupted just as Ann opened her mouth to say something. Instead the older woman just glared at him.

"That's not relevant to what you're doing Katie."

"I think probably is."

Amir sighed and rubbed his forehead. "He's having a video confrence along with the other executives with the President, Vice President and the Foreign- and Defence Minister. Now, if there isn't anything else, get back to your work." Katie nodded and left whilst Ann waited relucatanly for a few seconds. Eventually she sighed and left as well.

"How do you think we found out?" Katie asked after the two had worked in silenece for a couple of minuttes. "I mean, if it had been on TV, the media would be all over the White House, wouldn't they?"

"6 o'clock news." Ann answered still starring and typing on her computer. Katie turned in the chair and starred at the womans back.

"What do you mean '6 o'clock news'?" She asked, pushing her glasses into place.

"I mean," Ann said turning in her chair as well so they were face to face. "That a small local TV station Petrozavodsk aired the news. So far they're the only TV station that has, but it'll only be a matter of time before it's everywhere."

"How'd you know?" Katie asked curiously.

"I talked to the guy who brought it to Avers. John Wright, from Counter-Terrorism. You know, I still don't get why Avers left Araz in control. He's"

"Wait, John Wright? Why would he picking up that?"

"Beats me, but it's a good thing he did, gives us a jump start to trying to stop it before it goes global." Katie nodded and turned back to her screen. She couldn't help think it was a bit weird that John Wright had seen that news broadcasting. She shook her head. She needed to focus at the task at hand, everything that had no relevancy to her current case needed to stay out of her head, in other words no more thinking about the Alex Rider thing.

777

Underground Location,

Petrozavodsk,

Russian Federation

"Is this some kind of joke Ms Kurkova?" The man, Nicholai Bogodhan demanded of the woman, Marija Kurkova. The picture she was holding in her hand of General Alexei Sarvo's murderer could impossibly be true, he was merely a boy! The picture Marija was holding was one of a 14 year old boy.

"This is Alex Rider, the youngest ever field agent, he has worked for the MI6 on five missions to date. After the fifth he was murdered by terrorist organisation SCORPIA for betraying them."

"You say he was murdered, then why do you speak of him as if he were alive?" one of the few women present asked.

"Because a source of my division is working on a lead that might prove he is alive, and where he is located. If this proves to be true, we should revenge our brother's death."

"If?" Nicholai repeated. "That is too much of a chance. We are at the brink of a revolution. If we do not have all our minds focused solely operation PHOENIX, we will fail."

"And what if I can find Alex Rider, and exterminate him within the 10 days that are left before the next stage of PHOENIX?" Whispers once again spread through the small conference room.

"You believe you and your division can do this?" The same woman from before asked.

"My source will have the information by morning." She said confidently. "Our time." She added.

Nicholai hesitated before answering. He looked at the other members to see what their opinions on the matter were. He sighed. "We grant you permission to pursue this Ms Kurkova, but use any means necessary to keep it from interfering with PHOENIX, understood?"

Marija nodded and took her seat once again. Bogodhan stepped onto the podium once again, a strange glint in his eyes. He raised his fist. "Mother Russia will once again be great!" He shouted.

Cheer broke out into the room and a unison shout of the word "РЕВОЛЮЦИЯ!"(3)

* * *

AN: 

Translations:

(1) As before mentioned, it here says "New Communist Soviet Revolution."

(2)"Clear."

(3)"Revolution!"

All translations have been done roughly on the web, the first and third on rustran: com and the second using freedict : com  
PleaseReview!


	4. 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from the Alex Rider series, solely my OC's and the plot.

AN:

Reviews:  
Honey Nut Loop: Thanks, you might have a point about changing the summary!  
Remussweetie: Thank you  
Laine7727: PM's noon? I didn't know that, we don't use it in Norway, but thanks for pointing that out! And when I say Soviet Union it's because they're talking about it when it was a communist countrey, and I've alwaysed called that the Soviet Union. I didn't know it was called the USSR either, because we call it the SSSR here...But thanks!

* * *

Underground Location,

Petrozavodsk,

Russian Federation

Slowly members of NCSR were beginning to leave the underground conference room, conversing in hushed voices as they left through the big doors. From behind they all looked so very similar, not only because of the plain back's of the uniforms they wore, but from the back in general, especially because the majority of them were broad-shouldered, past middle-aged men with graying hair. Another one of these men was Nicholai Bogodhan, the uncrowned leader of New Communist Soviet Revolution, a group he himself had formed with other communist, including Alexei Sarov, after the fall of the Soviet Union.

All members had in the beginning been high-ranking Soviet Officers, and all of them wanting the same thing: for Russia to once again relive its years of glory. However, over the past years Russians of the new generation had begun working for their cause, and not all of them were exactly suited for it. The young, they didn't understand the genius of Karl Marx's class-less society where all men and women were equals. They didn't understand the theories that had later been perfected and put into action by Vladimir Lenin, the first, great communist leader.

Bogodhan noticed the form of Marija Kurkova in the far corner of the room, lingering behind. He sighed and shook his head. She was one of them, more intent on revenging a dead man than focusing on operation PHOENIX.

Operation PHOENIX was the great pride of Nicholai's life, for it was he who had devised the whole plan. He had chosen the name Phoenix, after the immortal fantasy creature said to be reborn in its own ashes. The name applied perfectly to his plan. In the ashes of revolution, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics would be reborn.

And with one final glance at the plain looking woman standing in the far corner of the conference room, Nicholai Bogodhan left through the double doors and headed towards the elevator.

Marija Kurkova remained behind. She had no intention to have further conversation with Bogodhan. She had seen it in his eyes; he had been very reluctant to grant her permission on her case. She loathed the man, his silly idea of a class-less community, had he learned nothing from the last time they tried that?  
No, Marija couldn't care less about the wellfare of others, she wanted powers, and she wanted revenge. She assumed Nicholai knew this, and that it was why he feared her. She cast a glance at the picture in the top bunk of her file, the one of Alex Rider.

_Rider. _She hated him for what he had done; he had driven Alexei Sarov, her uncle, to suicide. Yes, she knew Alex Rider hadn't murdered him, but she still wanted the boy dead, and she knew Bogodhan would never have granted her permission to revenge her uncle unless she had lied and said an MI6 agent had murdered their 'brother'.

She couldn't help also think about SCORPIA. The organization was pathetic in her eyes, not being able to assassin a fourteen-year-old schoolboy. No, she would be the one to succeed where they had failed. In two hours, at 01.35 her time, she would be calling her source about information on Rider, and within few days, Alex Rider would be dead, and for real this time.

777

Los Angeles,

California,

United States of America

Katie Harold stared up at the wall clock of the second floor kitchen. She hated the second floor kitchen, mostly because it was so small and because there were never any doughnuts. Plus, the second floor kitchen had the worst view in the building, which left her to spend her time sipping coke and staring at the wall clock. It was now exactly 14.25 in the afternoon, and in ten minutes the President would be checking in for the next update on the St.Petersburg bombing. He had demanded an update every fifteen minutes, but unfortunately for him there wasn't much update to be given.

Katie, like many others, found the lack of information on both the NCSR and the television station that had leaked the story surprising. They hadn't been able to get in contact with the supervisor of the station, but that wasn't so surprising as there was an 11-hour time difference between that part of Russia and Los Angeles, but it left them with quite a few blanks to fill.

So, having nothing better to do on her break she let her mind drift on to Alex Rider once again. She was surprised at how much she thought about it…_him_, she never put that much thought into cases when she wasn't working, but somehow this one wouldn't leave her alone. Usually she wouldn't be very happy about leaving her computer unsupervised with all that information on it, but thankfully she had saved everything on a disk before going to the meeting earlier that day.

"Hey Harold!" She turned and looked at the man in the doorway. His red-brown hair was hanging in front of his eyes, and he was smiling brightly. John Wright.

"What are you so happy about?" she asked harshly, her hair falling into her own face. He kept grinning and threw something towards her. She caught it, a round, soft object wrapped in kitchen paper. She unwrapped it and to her surprise found a doughnut.

"Peace offering." He said, taking a few steps into the room. "I get the feeling you're still pissed over the other day." Katie's eyes were slightly wide. He was always acting like a jackass towards her, what was so different about that time? Why was he apologizing?

"Umm, that's okay…" She said awkwardly. She checked the clock. 14.31. She wanted to know more about what the President thought about the whole situation with the bomb, and old fashioned eaves dropping was the best way.  
"I have to go work." She lied and hurried out of the room.

777

Train,

Somewhere between Petrozavodsk and St.Petersburg,

Russian Federation

Alone in a compartment on a train heading for Moskovsky Vokzal, the only train station where trains from Petrozavodsk arrived in St. Petersburg, sat Marija Kurkova. One couldn't make out whatever landscape was outside the window of her train compartment in the pitch-black darkness, but she didn't care. On the seat next to her lay a small cell phone, and in exactly ten minutes her source would be calling.

In the mean time, Marija was reading. As a small child in communist Russia, there weren't many things she had been allowed to read. After the fall of the USSR she had begun reading more and more foreign books, learning more and more new things. She didn't strike most people as an avid reader, someone who adored learning new things, with her dull eyes that seemed to have no life spark in them.

As a child her father and mother had struggled to give Marija and her four sibling's food everyday and to give them an education. Marija had always admired her uncle Alexei, a man rising to be the second in command of the Red Army. He lived a great life, him, his wife and his son Vladimir. But her parents were not like her uncle, the three were always arguing about things Marija, as a child, didn't understand. As a teen she learned that her parents didn't approve of the communist regime, and that that was why they always argued with her uncle.

Communism, Marija had later learned, was a good idea in theory, but it had proven virtually impossible to function in practice. So, why would a now educated, experienced woman like Marija Kurkova be part of NCSR? Because of power. That was why she had always admired her communist uncle, because he had power. That was why she was in NCSR, because when they regained power, she knew she would have power as well. For as Lenin said, one would need an elite at the top to rule the country, and she intended to be part of that elite.

The cell phone rang. She waited to answer, wanting to finish the paragraph she was currently indulged in. The cell phone continued to ring, the ring tone so annoying that she slammed the book closed and picked it up.

"Hello." She greeted sternly. "Did you get the information?" she asked, her hard Russian accent coating her words. She had no time to waste on conversation, all she wanted to know was no or yes.

"…Not exactly." The person on the other end said in a hushed voice, which due to the bad coverage she was getting on the train, made it hard for her to make out the words. "…I couldn't access her computer."

"What!" she exclaimed angrily. That lying little…she had been assured that she would be given the information at this exact time. "You said you could easily get me the information! Keep in mind that we are paying you a great sum of money for this and if you don't fulfill your end of the deal, you will be killed Mr"

"I know, I know!" He said, cutting her off before she could finish her threat. "Look, I know she keeps all her information stored on a disk. We could break into her house and get it." An evil, plotting type smile spread across her thin lips and she leaned back in her seat. This was going to be easier than she thought.

"How many men do you need?"

777

Los Angeles,

California,

United States of America

16-year-old Katie Harold was quietly walking up the stairs of the CIA headquarters, in a video game-like stealth mode, crouching down slightly. Mind you, she had seen quite a few ALIAS episodes and felt certain that as long as she didn't get caught she wouldn't get in trouble. How ever, if she did get caught…man, she didn't even want to think about what would happen then.

She reached the door and opened it, winching slightly at the loud, creaking noise the steel door made as she pushed it. The hallway it led into was empty but at the bottom she could see a large open room where people were walking around from different desks, talking to each other, discussing and sharing new information. Dropping the stealth walk, as it would look very strange if someone decided to look down the hall and find a girl half crouched down on the floor, she walked into the room looking straight ahead.

Further down in the room, Agent Amir Araz was currently discussing new information on the St.Petersburg bombing with another agent before they were attending the video meeting with the President. He looked up from the papers he was going over just in time to see the unmistakable form of Katie Harold walking into the room. A look of confusion crossed his face. Katie wasn't supposed to be up here. He let it go, seeing as he needed to talk to her. He handed the papers to his co-worker and asked for him to wait there until he returned.

"Katie," He put his hand on her shoulder and the girl stood perfectly still, it almost seemed like she stopped breathing for a second. "What are you doing here?" He asked her.

Slowly she turned around, her face red. What was she going to do, to say? Oh, she was in so much trouble. _´Come on Katie, think! ´ _Her mind shouted. She put on the most innocent face she could muster while trying to hide how worried she was about getting into trouble.

"I was" Her sentence was cut short by Agent Araz asking her if she knew exactly what time it was. "Well, I'm guessing it's around two thirty-five. Isn't the President calling in around now?" She asked, trying to change the subject.

"Exactly. And you've been working how many hours today?" She stared questioningly at the man. What did her hours have to do with this? What was _this_, anyway?  
"You're over-working Katie. You're sixteen and you work the hours of a grown-up. Both Avers and I agree that you should take the rest of the day off."

Her jaw dropped open. "What?" she stared wide-eyed at him. "Take the day off? With everything that's going on right now? I'm not overworking, I swear! And I have the day off tomorrow anyways. You can't be serious about this." She argued. They wanted her to take the day off? They had to be kidding, the CIA was in a state of emergency, and the President was calling in every fifteen minutes for Christ's sake! That should be reason enough to have every available person working.

"That doesn't change the fact that you are a child. Now go home, Katie." The tone of his voice made it clear that he wasn't going to discuss the matter any further. She sighed, knowing she couldn't win this one and nodded in agreement, a sad look on her face. "Good. I have to go, I'm late for the meeting." And with that he left.

Katie came back into her small, booth-like office five minutes later, and to her something seemed different, odd… She noticed her computer was shut off, which it never was when she was still at the office. But still annoyed about being sent home she shrugged it off. It wasn't like anyone could get any information off her computer anyway as there was too much security on it.

So she gathered the few things she needed to bring home, including one small floppy disk. You would think those things were extinct in the present time, with all the advanced forms of storing information, but the computer she had at home still used disks and she really didn't mind using one. Plus, they were easier to hide under the floorboard.

And though she was still a bit pissed about being shut out from everything that was going on surrounding the bombing in St.Petersburg, which she really didn't know much about from before, Katie Harold was actually looking forward to some time-off.

777

Corinthia Nevskij Palace Hotel,

St.Petersburg,

Russian Federation.

"_Good morning St.Petersburg, this is Nathalie Vodianova, with a live report from Moscow." _A young, attractive woman's voice came from the TV. Marija Kurkova sat in the sofa of her large hotel room, watching the 9 o'clock morning news. Already she was dressed in a navy blue suit, ready to go to work. She was also on the phone with a close co-worker in her division of NCSR.

"Are you watching this?" She asked the man on the phone, referring to the news broadcasting. The young, dark-haired reporter on the TV was standing outside the American embassy in Moscow, and behind her a small group of people were throwing rocks at the embassy. Muffled yelling of the word 'murderers' along with different profanities in Russian could be heard in the background.

_"It seems a riot has broken out here," _The reporter gestured behind her._ "in front of the __U.S.__ embassy here in __Moscow__. Who these people are, and why they are here doing this, is unknown at the moment, but as I speak the police are on their way to the scene, so hopefully we will know something in the next half" _The dark-haired woman stopped talking to the camera as someone came up to her and whispered something in her ear. _"Excuse me for a moment." _She said and took out her earpiece. In hushed voices she and the other person talked about something, obviously important judging by the serious looks on both their faces. Nathalie then turned back to the camera and put the earpiece back.

_"For those of you just joining us, good morning St.Petersburg, this is Nathalie Vodianova, now with a live exclusive news story. It seems the cause of this sudden riot outside the American Embassy is because the bomb found at the site of the bombing in St.Petersburg, was American." _

Marija Kurkova smiled as she heard this. By now she had hung up on the phone and was fully concentrated on the TV. This news broadcast would send the entire Russian people into a state of anger, not only towards the US because the bomb was American but also towards their own Government for not having told them.

This small riot in Moscow, though not part of any NCSR plan, would certainly serve its purpose. Operation PHEONIX would be a success.

* * *

Hope this chapter was to your liking. I'll update again soon...I hope at least...


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